“Take her and prepare her for this evening.” Lord Athelon had pronounced.

As Lady Syltha was dragged off by two of his guards, she was not surprised. She was not the first noblewoman of the Imperial Court of Yunkai to have lost the intricate game of court politics and found herself stripped of title and freedom, in the clutches of another, vindictive noble. ‘Bathe her and bring her too me’ was the traditional order given in such circumstances.

Lifting her head in the best, aristocratic expression of defiance, Lady Syltha steeled her nerve for what was to come. Doubtless, she would be presented before the court in some ridiculously scanty garb, a collar at her neck, leashed to her present master as she lay decorously beside his throne, a living monument to his success and his power to all who came to his court. She would bear such indignity, refusing to give him the satisfaction of showing dismay at her present state and meanwhile plan her revenge once her allies at court came to her aid and restored her to her position.

After that would be the bedchamber where she would be expected to serve the nobleman in the traditional manner of all enslaved courtesans. This too, she would endure. Though she wouldn’t admit it, even to herself, Lord Athelon was quite a handsome man, with the sharp features and superior look of a man of his exalted station. Had court politics not set them against one another, she might even have considered him an ideal partner. As it was, the prospect of spending time as his chained bedwarmer didn’t fill her with as much dread as she expected.

Sure enough, down a long corridor, Syltha was taken to a room where two slave girls waited beside a large tub full of steaming water. The rags of Syltha’s noble dress were torn off her body and the naked woman lifted into the tub by the burly guards. Then they turned and left as the slave girls climbed in as well and began to scrub her down with soft rags.

Just as they were finishing the bath, the guards returned with Syltha’s new outfit. It was, as she expected, skimpy in the extreme, but that was were her expectations and reality diverged. It was made of light silks, dyed in a checkered pattern of white and blue. There were  a set of leggings and long fingerless gloves, and a sort of corset. Lastly was a cap, with several conical arms, extended up and bent over in all directions. All the pieces of the outfit were hung with small silver bells that jingled merrily as the guards carried them in.

“No!” Syltha exclaimed, seeing the outfit they intended to wear. “Never! I won’t degrade myself so!” Her voice was as sharp and haughty as any noblewoman’s would be. However, she was a slave now, and she had no choice. The men seized her and, struggle as she may, she couldn’t stop the slave girls from taking each part of the outfit and placing it on her. Nor could she stop them from taking the makeup and whiting her face and those parts of her body that were left exposed, which was most of it. Her cheeks were rouged with large, bright red circles while elsewhere circles and triangles and other marks were added in gay colors to ensure she looked appropriately ridiculous.

Syltha continued to protect, at least until a ballgag was fetched and jammed between her lips. The round leather plug was dyed and appropriately bright color to go with the rest of her motely look. Shackles were snapped onto her hands and feet and finally she was carried bodily out of the room and down the hall.

Still struggling and grunting into the gag, Syltha was dragged into the throne room and dropped at the feet of Lord Athelon.She looked up, her face burning red with rage, unseen beneath the white and red face paint. The lord merely grinned down at her. “How do you like my new jester!” He called to the crowd. The assembled nobles of his court laughed and jeered as Syltha continued to curse and threaten, the gag in her lips turning them into meaningless babble.

“Come slave!” He called, clapping his hands. “Perform for us!” At this, the guards came up beside Syltha. One handed her several juggling balls. The other took out two long crops, such as were used to chastise unruly slaves, passing one to his partner and waving the other as a warning. Even so, it wasn’t until she felt the first of them across her naked posterior that she bowed to the inevitable and started juggling. Or trying at least. She had never juggled before, and the chains on her hands made learning quickly hard enough.

Her failures were quickly punished with more strikes of the crop. But worst was when she lost control of the balls and had to chase after them, hindered by the ankle fetters locked around her feet. The crowd laughed and jeered to see her humiliating spectacle. A nobleman seized one of the balls, just before she could and tossed it to another. They laughed, tossing the ball back and forth while the helpless noblewoman-turned-clown frantically chased after it, pursued by the guards with their crops. Syltha sobbed, her long torment was only beginning…